


i love you, don't you mind?

by ohcinnamon



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: 10 Things, M/M, based off an otp prompt, one of those "nine x one" things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: He wants...fuck, he wants everything, from good morning just-because kisses to the electric feeling of teeth scraping over bare skin in the middle of the night. He wants it all, the good and the bad, for as long as he can get it.nine times pete said "i love you," and one time patrick said it first.





	i love you, don't you mind?

**Author's Note:**

> ten ways to say "i love you."
> 
> (title from "me" by the 1975)

_One: Straightforward. Soft and heavy, like morning before the coffee’s started brewing. Like that’s all there is to say._

It's cold when Patrick wakes up.

He kind of never wants to leave the safety of his duvet, but his alarm clock is blinking _12:03_ at him in angry red numbers, so he figures he should probably actually get up if he wants to get anything done today. He wraps himself up in one of the (many) blankets thrown across the foot of his bed, swings his legs out from under the covers, and does his best to keep his eyes open enough to face the world.

He stops at the end of the hallway, though, one eyebrow raised in confusion and his hands on his hips, demanding an explanation.

Because a certain Pete Wentz is in his kitchen, making _his_ coffee with _his_ coffee maker, which is...whatever. Sneaking into someone’s house in the morning while their parents are at work is kind of weird, even for Pete, but he's not gonna complain. This band is the best thing to happen to him in his short sixteen years of life, and if he gets his coffee made for him now, that’s pretty all right in his book.

“Rise and shine, Lunchbox!” Pete chirps, way too happy for someone up this early in the day — especially since Patrick knows that Pete doesn’t sleep nearly as much as he should. “I have coffee ready for you. I even made it the way you like it — with a generous side of _me._ ”

“Shut the fuck up,” Patrick grumbles, pressing his palms into his eyes. “God, you’re too fucking loud and happy right now. I just woke up.”

“Aw, Trick, even though you're grumpy in the morning, I still love you,” Pete says, shoving a mug of coffee into his hands and ruffling his hair.

Patrick blinks up at him, confused, because _what?_ He's known Pete for maybe a few months now, and while they get along like a house on fire, he's still not exactly used to Pete’s overwhelming outpouring of affection. “You what?”

“I love you,” Pete says, completely deadpan, as he takes a drink of coffee from his own mug. “What, you don't say it or something? It's not that hard, Trickie.”

“Shut up,” Patrick grumbles, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. He tries to hide his face behind the mug somewhat, but it’s a useless cause. He’ll be the subject of Pete’s teasing until the end of time — that much, he already knows.

“Aw, you know you love me too.” Pete smirks, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Or you will, at least.”

“Says who?” Patrick retorts, taking a tentative sip of coffee. Fuck, he wants to be annoyed with Pete, but this coffee is _good._ Damn it.

“You, sooner or later,” Pete teases, bumping Patrick’s hip with his own. “Drink up. We’ve got practice at 2:30, and _someone_ decided he didn’t want to wake up until noon.”

 

_Two: Through laughter, over a chorus of voices, knowing it’ll strike home anyway. It’s meant for everyone here, after all._

They’re at a house party when Pete says it again, a few weeks later, slightly tipsy off of both the alcohol they’d gotten paid in and the adrenaline of performing. They’d gotten a fucking _encore_ for the first time — granted, he’s pretty sure a couple of kids too drunk to realize what they were doing started shouting it, and it just caught on, but still. First encore. It counts.

Before Patrick knows it, he’s being coerced into talking to strangers while Joe is off doing who knows what — okay, he’s smoking, let’s be real — and Pete is nowhere to be seen. He nervously laughs, trying to explain how the band had first started to some guy he’s met maybe twice? Most of these people know Pete, or even Joe, but definitely not him. They don’t come to these shows to see him, and he knows it. He’s drowning in it.

Then, like magic, Pete is at his side, loud and clumsy and full of life, and Patrick lets himself breathe easy.

“I love this kid!” Pete exclaims, flinging an arm around Patrick’s shoulders and dragging him into a side hug against his will, the stink of beer on his breath and his hands sticky from...something Patrick can’t quite make out. He hopes it’s booze. He really does. “He's our golden ticket, did you know that? Trickster here is gonna make us famous.”

“Am not,” Patrick protests, blushing furiously, but it’s no use. Once Pete gets started on the fame train, there’s no stopping him. He’ll talk your ear off until he feels he’s satisfied.

“Shut _uuuuuup_ ,” Pete drawls out in a singsong voice, ruffling Patrick’s hair roughly. “Patrick Martin Stumph, you are gonna make us _famous_.”

Patrick opens his mouth to argue, but as he catches Pete’s gaze, there’s this...weird glint in his eyes that shuts him right up. It looks like a mix of pride and happiness and other emotions that Patrick can’t even fathom, so he bites his tongue, mirroring the content smile Pete sends him, the relaxed upward curve of his lips. He knows Pete’s got this weird trust in him, but he’d never really been able to pinpoint it until now. It makes him feel...good inside. Warm. Like he’s actually doing something right. “Whatever you say, Wentz.”

Patrick doesn’t say much after that, just lets Pete talk to the people he knows and pull him along in tow, but he doesn’t mind it at all.

 

_Three: Slipped under your tongue, twisted into something else. “I trust you,” maybe. Trust them to figure it out._

It’s months from then when Patrick finally sees that weird glint in Pete’s eyes again, but it’s not in a way he expected.

Patrick’s seen a lot of Pete’s twisted, self-deprecating lyrics ever since the band started living together, but it still shocks him when Pete hands him his latest notebook page of scribbles late one night, dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. He looks down at the page, squints through the ink smudges, and feels his stomach plunge.

_I took a shot, and didn’t even come close / at trust and love and hope._

“Pete,” Patrick breathes, looking back up at him. He’s staring at the floor, refusing to look at anyone or anything, radiating exhaustion. “This is...dark.”

Pete shrugs like there’s nothing else to say.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Patrick presses, gently resting one hand on his shoulder. Pete flinches at first at the sudden touch, but quickly relaxes into it after the initial scare.

“I’m fine, I always am.”

And that’s Pete’s default response, it always has been, Patrick _knows_ what to look for by now, so he doesn’t believe him for an instant. If he straight-up calls Pete out on it, though, he’s going to get defensive and storm off, and who knows if Patrick will even be able to get through to him then? He has to play his cards right, but he’s been playing BS with Pete’s depression for years. He knows how and when to call “bullshit.”

“I know this has to be hard for you,” Patrick says carefully, giving him a once-over. “Are you sure this is what you want? Because we don’t have to write with these, if you don’t want to. It still amazes — and scares — me how you can just throw yourself out there like this.”

_I’m hopelessly hopeful / you’re just hopeless enough._

“It’s become easier for me.” Pete shrugs, catching his gaze. He looks more serious than Patrick’s ever seen him, his eyes suddenly clear and focused, glittering with something sweet and unspoken. “Because I trust you with my words, Patrick. You know me better than anyone. I _trust you_.”

“Oh,” Patrick breathes out, shocked into stillness. He wants to move, but he’s trapped under the weight of the confession. “That’s...thank you. For trusting me, I mean. I won’t let you down.”

Pete expression slips into something lighter, his lips curving into a small smile. “You could never let me down, Trick. You’re golden.”

Patrick shoves the lyrics to the back of his mind, promises to save them for later. He pulls Pete into a hug, curling his fingers tightly into the back of his shirt, telepathically promising Pete that he won’t let go. Pete doesn’t say anything, but he, like always, somehow knows exactly what Patrick means.

_We can fake it for the airwaves / force our smiles, baby, half dead / from comparing myself to everyone else around me._

 

_Four: Instead of “thank you” or “see you soon” or “drive safe.” Because no matter what you say it’ll mean the same thing._

They’ve been fighting. Again.

Patrick knows that it’ll be fine, give it two hours, but it still feels heavy as all hell as he buttons up his shirt, pulls on his slacks. He especially hates fighting before he has to go to work, because he knows being apart after an argument takes a bad toll on both of them. It’s going to be an exhausting night.

He doesn’t even remember which part of the song they were fighting over, exactly — some stupid guitar riff that Pete had him keep playing over and over that just sounded worse and worse every time, he thinks. Or maybe it’s that annoyance combined with the fact that they’ve both been up for a good 36 hours straight. That might be a big factor.

Pete’s standing a few steps away from the door when Patrick walks into the living room, and Patrick very pointedly does _not_ look at him. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor, fumbles around their coat rack until he can find his coat, and briskly brushes past Pete. One foot is already halfway out the door before Pete actually does something about it, starting toward him.

“Hey,” Pete breathes, catching his wrist as he turns to leave and pulling him back into their apartment. “Don’t go.”

Patrick looks back impatiently, yanking his hand back. He’s already late because of this stupid argument. Does Pete _want_ him to get fired? “What could you possibly want? I’m already late because of you, I hope you know. I can’t risk losing this job, Pete. We don’t have the money for that.”

“I love you,” Pete blurts out, making Patrick’s heart stop dead in his chest, and all at once the guilt comes crashing down on him. “Please don’t hate me. Please be safe getting to work. Please come home safe. Just...be okay, all right?”

Patrick swallows hard and nods, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s all right, Pete, I’ll be fine. And _we’re_ fine. Stop worrying. I just need to get to work, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Good,” Pete laughs a little bit, a hint of nervous relief in his tone. He tugs Patrick into a hug, holds on to him with shaky hands. Patrick sighs deeply, the weight on his chest beginning to loosen just a little bit. He’s already late by now; might as well resolve this while he can. It’s better than being rushed _and_ upset. “I couldn’t have you like...dying while you’re angry at me. Or dying at all, really. Please just...come back to me.”

“I will,” Patrick promises, hoping the genuity in his voice can convey how dead serious he’s being right now. It’s a bit of an irrational fear, but he knows how much it means to Pete — he cares about Pete too much to let him be afraid of that. “I’ll always come back to you.”

 

_Five: Casually, as if you don’t mean it. Trying like hell not to mean it._

It’s been a while since they’ve kind of “taken off officially,” as Joe likes to put it, and Patrick is starting to think that maybe life is going to get easier for them. They’ve got a record deal on the way, he and Pete are writing more than ever, and most importantly, they can actually pay all of their bills without worrying about how they’re going to eat for the rest of the month — which is a foreign feeling, but a good one.

Of course, next to nothing has changed about the way they all behave together. For example, Joe still watches terrible movies too loud and Andy still bitches about it; stuff like that is never going to change. The way they interact with the fans us the only real thing that has to change a bit, due to their growing popularity, but Pete still answers questions on Livejournal about him, which is...fine. It’s a bit weird, but Patrick’s not going to stop him. It just throws him off sometimes, knowing that more people than ever are reading his weird blog posts.

_“i write the lyrics. patrick writes the music. we are in love and live in a castle in the sky. our next door neighbors are carebears. grumpy bear has a baditude. but i still heart him. i hope your life is as magical as ours is.”_

He always insinuates that he’s in love with Patrick because it makes the fans go crazy — he always has, it’s just that people are actually starting to take notice of it now — but they all know it’s just a joke, that Pete doesn’t really mean it...don’t they? They can’t possibly think that Pete _actually_ has feelings for him — he’s just always liked to mess around. That’s all.

The only problem is that their fans don’t seem to get that. It’s happened more than once, and the encounters only increase in frequency — after their shows, just when he thinks he might actually have a chance with a girl, they always ask him the same thing. And it’s _always_ about Pete. Are they dating, is there something between them?

And he always answers the same thing —  _no, of course not_ — but they still look at him like they don’t believe it, like he’s some kind of starstruck kid with a crush, before they let it slide. Some of them don’t even let it slide, and it makes Patrick feel out of the loop. Like they know something he doesn’t.

 

_Six: Wrapped up in a question. How’s your day been, have you eaten, you know you can tell me anything, right? You know you can tell them anything. Right?_

It’s years later before he has his first real, serious girlfriend since the band started, and, as to be expected, that can only go up in flames.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed with the lights off, staring at the wall — he has been for hours — when Pete knocks on his bedroom door softly, nearly making him jump right out of skin. He looks up, and Pete’s got a careful expression plastered onto his face. Part of it makes him mad, because it’s not like he’s some fragile thing that’s going to break at any second, but he rationalizes that out with the knowledge that Pete’s just trying to do his best to be a good friend.

Pete is a good friend. He’s better than Patrick deserves.

“You can come in,” Patrick mumbles, looking down at his lap. Pete doesn’t say anything to that, just shuffles in and sits next to him on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath their combined weight. It’s quiet between them, the only sound the distorted wailing of a siren in the distance. It’s off-putting, but Patrick can’t bring himself to care.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Pete says softly, wrapping an arm around him. He tugs Patrick closer, pulls his head in to rest on his shoulder. “I’m here for you, always.”

“Anna and I broke up,” Patrick mumbles, sighing heavily and sinking into Pete’s side. “She cheated on me. While we were on tour. She said she was sorry, but...I can’t trust her, not after that. And even if I wanted to, I _saw it_ in her eyes that she didn’t regret it.” He swallows hard, trying to blink away the tears brimming in his eyes. “It was hollow, all of it, like it didn’t mean anything. Everything she said. Just... _hollow_.”

“Shit, Patrick,” Pete hisses under his breath, tightening the hold he has around Patrick’s side. “I’m so sorry.”

“I should’ve known it was coming, but still,” Patrick shrugs, staring blankly at the wall in front of them. “People don’t fall in love with me. That’s just not how things happen for me, not like they do for you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Pete says, running his fingers through the hair falling in Patrick’s face. Patrick closes his eyes, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders; maybe he can be annoying a good portion of the time, but Pete’s always been good at relaxing him when it comes down to the real stuff. He knows when to turn it off. “My relationship track record isn’t great, either, in case you’ve forgotten how many songs we’ve gotten out of that alone.”

Patrick shakes his head. “Yeah, but you’re... _you._ Girls are falling all over themselves to get to you. I’m _me._ Anna may have been the only shot I had at a real relationship, Pete.”

Pete frowns, his hand stilling in Patrick’s hair. “That’s not true at all. You just haven’t found the right person yet, Trick.”

“But what if I have?” Patrick asks, a pang of sadness striking his heart. “What if I have, and I messed it up?”

“You haven’t,” Pete reassures him, his tone just serious enough that it forces Patrick to listen. “That’s not how it works. She _cheated_ on you, Patrick. The right person would love you for you, not take you for granted. You deserve _so_ much better, Trick; you’ve got to believe me when I say that.”

And Patrick wants to keep arguing, wants to fight until every stupid, irrational emotion he’s kept bottled up inside is gone, but one look at Pete’s face tells him that it’s worthless. He’s not going to back down. Something in his chest aches, because he wishes he could believe that about himself, he really does, but he doesn’t really think he’ll ever get there. Until he does, though, he’s got Pete.

Patrick really doesn’t deserve him.

 

_Seven: Under your breath while the whole house sleeps, just before you have to leave for the day. More for yourself than for them._

They’ve been watching old horror movies on the bus together again, curled up on the couch as the skyline grows dark outside the window, until the landscape is just a blur of highway and trees and cars. Patrick’s about to fall asleep, trapped half-underneath Pete, who is a dead weight above him, seeing as he’d already passed out about halfway through watching _Rosemary’s Baby._ Truthfully, he, too, is about to fall asleep, which means he has to extract himself from between Pete and the couch in order to get back to his own bunk.

He carefully tries to pull himself out from underneath the sleeping Pete, being as slow and quiet as possible because he’s not entirely sure of the last time Pete had actually gotten a full night’s sleep. However, because the universe apparently hates it when Pete sleeps, or maybe because Patrick’s plans can never go off without a hitch, Pete stirs, groaning unhappily when he realizes what’s going on.

“Don’t leave,” Pete mumbles, winding an arm around Patrick’s waist, pulling him back onto the couch. “S’warm with you here. Gonna freeze to death without my own personal space heater.”

“Pete —”

“— _freeze,_ Patrick.”

“Fine,” Patrick sighs, giving in. He stops struggling and instead tries to wriggle himself into a position where he’ll be able to settle in for the night, knowing full well that once Pete falls asleep, he won’t be able to move. Pete, as much as Patrick loves his best friend, is a fucking _octopus_ when it comes to sleeping in the same bed with him. “But if I wake up with you all over me, _you’ll_ be waking up on the floor.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Pete shrugs him off, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You _love_ me, babe. You know you do.”

Patrick yawns, closing his eyes. “Don’t call me babe. M’not your boyfriend, Wentz.”

“Dear. Honey. Darling. The only reason I continue living,” Pete teases, grinning. “Are any of those better? Because I can probably come up with more.”

“Please don’t,” Patrick begs, something restless kicking to life in his stomach. “You’re annoying enough as it is, already.”

“You love me,” Pete murmurs again, tucking his head into the space between Patrick’s neck and shoulder, slotting his foot in-between Patrick’s calves. They fit together like puzzle pieces, Patrick thinks, and all of a sudden it feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. “Whether you say it or not, I know it, Trick. You couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to, even if you _tried_.”

Patrick thinks he might be going crazy, but he swears he hears Pete whisper “I love you” before he falls asleep.

 

_Eight: With a hand on their shoulder, a song on your lips, or a carton of their favorite ice cream in the freezer._

It hadn't taken long for Patrick to fall for him completely.

It’s just...when he’s happy, like, _really happy_ , he shoots this smile at Patrick like he’s the best thing Pete’s ever seen. When Pete glows like that, it makes Patrick feel like he’s glowing, too, from the inside out. It had all been a downward spiral from there, really, and after a while, Patrick had pretty much given up on try to stop it.

So he just kinda...rolls with it — well, as much as he can, really. There’s no telling how anything’s going to go when Pete Wentz is a constant force in your daily life, so he lives with it. Every day is like a surprise, so he doesn’t exactly know what to expect. Not that he would want to know, exactly. He likes the excitement of never knowing what’s coming next, of being part of Pete’s grand adventure. It makes him feel...important, in a way.

There’s also the fact that today is Pete’s fucking _birthday_ , no less, so of course Patrick had to go all out for him. There’s ice cream, and cake, and presents, and a stack of his favorite movies on the kitchen table — Joe and Andy are starting to look at him weird, sharing knowing glances when they think he can’t see them, but whatever.

And Pete _is_ happy. That alone is worth it, weird stares and all.

He comes up from behind and wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, face pressing into his neck, and Patrick can feel his smile. He knows it’s been a good day when Pete’s this happy. He'll never shut up about it, but Patrick has found himself minding less and less lately — a side effect of realizing you've got a major crush on your best friend, probably.

“What do you think of your party?” Patrick asks, leaning back into the hug, his cheeks warm with happiness and...well, you know. “I mean, it’s not much of a ‘party’, persay, but…”

“Mm, I beg to differ, Trick,” Pete hums into his shoulder, buzzing with happiness. “You’ve really outdone yourself this year. Ice cream _and_ cake? This is why I’m in love with you.”

 _Ouch._ That one hurts.

He’ll get over it. He’ll be fine. He always is.

 

_Nine: Over a nervous smile, biting back the just-this-side-of-desperate hope they’ll say it back._

The night that everything comes crashing down, Patrick has no idea that anything is wrong.

Okay, a correction — he has no idea that anything is _out of the ordinary._ Pete’s been acting weird for months now, but it’s something that they’ve all kind of adjusted to, more or less. Patrick keeps telling himself that everything will be okay, given time; they’ll find the right therapist, the right meds, and Pete will be okay soon. They have the money to take care of this now. It’s going to be fine.

“What are you thinking about?” Pete says, breaking the silence. They’re sitting at opposite ends of Patrick’s kitchen table, supposed to be writing together, but they haven’t spoken out loud in at least half an hour. It’s looking like a bust.

“Not much,” Patrick replies honestly, drumming his fingers on the table dejectedly. If he’s being completely honest, he’s spent the last twenty minutes zoning out, wondering what it would sound like if he mashed a bunch of Kanye songs together — or if the studio would even let him play around like that. “What are _you_ thinking about?”

“I love you,” Pete blurts out, looking... _nervous_ , for once? That’s weird; Pete’s probably told him he loved him no less than a million times, and he’d never once been so hesitant or unsure about it. It really shouldn’t make him this anxious, especially after knowing each other for years, unless…

_Oh._

Patrick opens his mouth to say it back, the words on the tip of his tongue, but finds that his body has betrayed him by pushing him into a mute state of shock. The phrase is _right there_ , he knows it is, but his voice won’t cooperate. Nothing will come out, and the look of badly concealed disappointment on Pete’s face shreds his heart into a million tiny slivers.

“I’m just gonna…” Pete stands up, making an abortive motion toward the door, his smile so bittersweet that it leaves a sour taste in Patrick’s mouth. He backs out of the room with his head down, disappearing down the hallway and out the front door before Patrick has the chance to grab him and never, ever let go.

Patrick is still sitting at the table an hour later, wondering what exactly had happened.

 

_Ten: With a soft sigh. Past exhaustion and frustration and despair, like it’s the only good thing left. Sometimes it is._

It was a week after he’d last seen Pete, after their last awkward encounter, when Pete’s mom had called Patrick with the news.

Patrick had tried to get a hold of Pete the day after, if only to say _something_ , though he had no idea what that might be, but Pete’s phone went straight to voicemail every time he called. He checked with the boys, who also seemed to have no idea where Pete had disappeared to. He even went to Pete’s _house_ , let himself in with the copy of the key that had been made for him, and searched every room twice. Nothing. Pete had officially gone AWOL.

Eventually, Patrick gave up, realizing that Pete wouldn’t be found until he wanted to be, and he’d just have to wait it out.

When the call came, he’d been in the middle of writing something down for Panic, had thrown himself into his work to try and forget about the distance between them — but at the sound of Dale’s trembling voice, he’d immediately known what was going on, his worst fears confirmed. He’d dropped everything, jumped into his car, and blown every red light on the way to the hospital. He hasn’t showered or eaten in god knows how long, thanks to his refusing to leave Pete’s room until he was discharged.

Which leads them to here, sitting on Patrick’s kitchen floor at 3 AM on a Tuesday night, seeing as Patrick refuses to let Pete out of his sight anymore.

"We should talk about what happened," Patrick finally says, acknowledging the elephant in the room. He leans back against the wall, resting his head on Pete’s shoulder. Pete wraps an arm around him and holds on tight, then lifts Patrick’s hand up to his free one to intertwine their fingers. It sends Patrick’s heartbeat into overdrive, feeling like it’s going to burst straight out of his ribcage. “Was it...my fault? Because of what I —”

“No,” Pete stops him, tightening his grip on Patrick’s hand. “No, I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t... _do something like that_ over you. It was a big, bad mix of factors.” He bites the inside of his cheek, looking somewhat ashamed, for whatever reason. “It was a lot of things. I felt alone. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I just...I didn’t want to be _anything_ anymore.”

“I love you, Pete,” Patrick whispers into his shoulder, voice trembling, like loving him is the only good thing left in the world. Maybe it is. “You know I do, right? You had to have known. I love you the same way you’ve loved me — I was just, I don’t know, scared, I think? I’m sorry I never said it sooner. I should have. I’m _sorry._ ”

Pete inhales sharply, clutching him tighter. It’s the first time Patrick’s ever said it before he has, and they both know it. It feels like walking on unsteady ground, where the floor could fall out from under them at any moment, but they’ve come too far to go back now. “I know. I love you too, Trick. So much.”

“Then _why?_ ” Patrick pleads, tears pricking at his eyes. “Why would you... _leave_ me?”

“I don't know,” Pete mumbles, heavy tears beginning to roll down his own cheeks. “I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted the world to stop for a minute. I didn't...I would never…”

Pete stops rambling at that, looks at Patrick an expression that conveys a little bit of everything; hurt, apology, longing. Patrick is the one who pulls him into the hug, though, arms locked around him without any intention of letting him go. They're both silent for long minutes that seem like hours, shaking bodies pressed together, tangled up in each other like it's the only thing keeping them from falling apart. Maybe it is.

It's not romantic when Patrick kisses him, it really isn't. It's the heat of the moment, and Pete _has_ to know how much he means to him, and he's never been as good with words as Pete, and this is the only thing he can think of. He wipes away the tears as best as he can, cups one hand around the back of Pete’s neck, hesitates just long enough to catch the mix of confusion and hope in Pete’s gaze, and kisses him like it's the only thing he knows how to do.

Thankfully, as he often does, Pete gets the message.

Pete melts into him, clutching at his shirt like Patrick’s his anchor, the thought of which is both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He scoots forward until he’s nearly sitting in Patrick’s lap, legs draped over Patrick’s thighs lazily, one hand threaded into Patrick’s hair and the other still twisted into his shirt, keeping himself steady. He brushes his tongue along Patrick's lower lip, already wanting to be closer, already wanting  _more_ , and Patrick can't help but give it to him. 

When the kiss deepens, Patrick is still clinging on to him like his life depends on it, one hand pressed down on Pete’s thigh, his nails digging uncomfortably into the fabric of his jeans, and the other solid, comforting, on the back of his neck. He wants...fuck, he wants _everything_ , from good morning just-because kisses to the electric feeling of teeth scraping over bare skin in the middle of the night. He wants it all, the good and the bad, for as long as he can get it.

Pete is the first one to pull back, albeit reluctantly, looking at Patrick with a mix of nerves and hope, as if to say, _please tell me that’s not the last time that’ll ever happen._

It’s not, as long as Patrick has a say in it.

“I’m sorry,” Pete murmurs, his gaze heavy with a strange combination of melancholy and affection. It’s not the first time Patrick’s ever seen it before, but it’s the first time it’s been specifically meant for _him_ , and that’s what makes all the difference.

“Please promise me you’ll never do that again,” Patrick whispers, holding onto him like if he lets go, something terrible is going to happen. “ _Promise_ me, Pete. I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“I promise,” Pete breathes, leaning in until his forehead is resting against Patrick’s, their noses brushing. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Patrick’s suddenly jolted through time, back to that afternoon in their old apartment, when he’d made the same promise to Pete so long ago.

It feels a little bit like they’re falling in love.

Maybe they are.


End file.
